Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Insanity
by Bladelover
Summary: Rodney disappears from a mission. Sheppard can't seem to stay in charge. Ronon says no more than he has to. Teyla wants to smack them both. Sam just wants to understand what's going on. Just another day for the expedition.
1. Chapter 1

_This was written for an SGA gen ficathon and was intended to be much shorter. It's not. It's actually rather longish. Thanks to Madigirl, Sholio, and Uncleagent for their time and advice._

* * *

Sam Carter stared into the event horizon; that shimmering, placid facade from which often issued the direst threats and the most wondrous of discoveries. Or sometimes, oddly confusing statements. "Say again, Colonel?"

Even over the radio, Sheppard's impatience was clear. "I said, I need a dozen men and another life signs detector."

"If I had a nickel for every time I've said _that_**,**" she muttered quietly, tossing a smile at Chuck. He tossed back a slightly scandalized look. Boy, you take over running a flying city in another galaxy and suddenly you're not allowed a sense of humor.

"Before that, Colonel," Sam clarified. "What did you say about McKay?"

"I said, we've lost him. We can't find McKay!"

Sam shook her head, hoping it would make more sense to her after that. It didn't. You lose a contact lens, you lose a sock in the laundry, you lose your _keys._ Rodney hadn't exactly been dangling from a key chain, right next to the big brass "#1 Gate Team" ornament, and if he _were_ lost, a dozen people walking a grid with flashlights aimed into the grass was not an effective rescue plan.

"Colonel, you've been gone less than ten minutes! Are you saying that you managed to lose a team member almost as soon as the wormhole closed behind you?"

There was a brief pause during which Sam thought she might have heard Sheppard utter something _sotto voce_ and consonant-heavy. "Yes, we did, and every minute we waste repeating what I already said is a minute we could be looking for him! So if you could send us some help and another life signs detector, we—"

"I'm not... wait. Why do you need _another_ life signs detector?"

Teyla answered this time, quickly, as though anxious to be the first to respond. "The life signs detector was with Dr. McKay when he disappeared, Colonel."

"Ah."

"If we're all clear on the distribution of equipment now," interjected Sheppard's voice, "I'd like you to send Lorne's team and some—"

"Colonel Sheppard," she interrupted, beginning to lose patience herself, "I'm not sending another man until I have a clearer picture of exactly what happened to the one we're missing."

There was an explosive sigh from the other end; Sam had a vivid mental image of Sheppard biting the mike off his radio earpiece, spitting it onto the ground, and severing the gate connection. He'd never actually been insubordinate to her since she'd assumed command of Atlantis, but she now sensed the side of him that had littered Sheppard's Air Force career with official reprimands and, more discreetly, more than one CO's medically compelled mental health leave.

She made a decision. "You and your remaining team members come on back, Colonel. I'll post a small team of Marines at the gate to watch for Dr. McKay."

* * *

The briefing lacked that feeling of casual laziness Sheppard usually tended to project.

"We were exploring the area." The colonel recounted the events with the haste of a boy explaining to his parents the plot of a movie while his friends wait at the door to the theater where the sequel is seconds from starting. "Rodney noticed some energy readings that didn't seem to fit, so we'd spread out a little. Something tripped me up and I hit the ground. When we got back up, Rodney wasn't there."

Sam frowned. "You tripped, and everyone fell?" Sheppard's team was legendary for their bond, but this seemed extreme.

Teyla leaped in before Sheppard's open mouth could spew something that would only complicate this meeting. "Whatever tripped Colonel Sheppard apparently tripped me, as well. One moment I was walking forward, the next I was face down in the grass."

Sam nodded and looked to Ronon, reclining dangerously in the office chair for which he looked so ill-suited. For a few seconds he simply returned her stare, until he realized she was seeking his confirmation of the experience. He didn't _quite_ roll his eyes. "We all fell."

"When we got up," Teyla continued, "Rodney's P-90 and sidearm were on the ground, but there was no sign of him."

"Did any of you notice – when you all hit the ground, did he fall, too?"

"When we _find_ him, we'll be sure to ask." Sheppard leaned forward, glaring. "Speaking of which, can we get started searching for him soon? We're losing daylight."

Blinking, Sam asked, "You know M48J19's rotational schedule?"

"Do we have reason to believe the planet doesn't have night? No? Then it's safe to assume we're losing daylight!"

Sam took a deep, measured breath. All three of them were watching her with urgent intensity; uncomfortably, she thought of happy domestic dogs who'd escaped from their respective backyards and begun to rediscover their feral roots. "Okay, take Lorne's team and some more Marines. Establish a perimeter and organize a search of the area. Everyone stays in pairs and keeps in radio contact with the rest of the group. You'll report back here by radio every thirty minutes."

Sheppard was on his feet and out the door before she'd finished issuing her instructions. Ronon smirked slightly as he uncoiled himself and followed. Watching their retreating backs with apparent discomfort, Teyla hovered briefly. "John believes that he missed something on that planet, Colonel. He feels responsible for Rodney's disappearance."

"I know. I'd feel the same in his position."

"I'm sure he doesn't mean to be insubordinate."

Sam quirked her mouth. "You're sure?"

With a carefully neutral expression, Teyla insisted, "It is entirely possible."

Sam nodded and waved her away. "Good luck. Hope you have a successful trip." At Teyla's raised eyebrow over the word "trip," Sam winced. "Sorry."

* * *

Spinning. Everything was spinning around him. Or maybe _Rodney_ was spinning. Or maybe he was spinning within an environment that was also spinning. Oh, please, did it really matter which one it was? Did it? No! No, it didn't.

All that did matter was that a) he was _hating it,_ and b) he needed it to stop. He couldn't function in such a state, and whoever had captured him would probably want him functional. He knew that he'd been captured because he occasionally heard voices and had felt hands on his arm, shoulder, or back, guiding him as they caused him to float through the air. (Floating! Him! He was floating! Obviously his captors had access to technology that could, in the right hands – ie., _his_ – do a great deal of good.) He hadn't been harmed, so he was clearly considered to be of some value, and as such, he intended to let the relevant parties know how he felt about all this floating and spinning. The human nervous system just wasn't made for this kind of thing.

He was unable to focus his eyes, so he didn't know where to direct a piercing glare. He would have to let his voice carry the weight of authority by itself.

"I don't know who you are or what you've done to me, but I need this to stop," he intoned forcefully.

That it actually came out as, "I... I don't... wh-who... n-need... ssstahhhhhp..." was almost certainly a trick of this bizarre environment. Who knew what the acoustic effects were of a constantly spinning room/ship/planet/universe?

"What? What are you trying to say?"

The voice was impatient and sounded irritated. Indignantly, Rodney thrust his shoulders back and folded his arms.

"Oh, stop flailing. You look ridiculous," commanded the voice. Huh. He'd really thought he'd been crossing his arms. He tried again, and the voice said, "I said, _stop fl_... oh."

With the suddenness of air rushing in to fill a vacuum, a room – a perfectly stationary one – materialized around Rodney, who was also perfectly stationary. His feet were planted firmly on a hard floor made of rough-hewn, uneven boards under his upright form. Okay, that was an embellishment; he was actually bent at the waist and hunched like a patient with advanced osteoporosis, and his arms were extended from his body and flailing. The familiarity of this posture puzzled him until the memory popped into his head of that awful afternoon when Sheppard had taken the team out for a surfing lesson.

"Better now?" The voice was coming from behind him and to his right, and he craned his neck awkwardly to look at the woman in the room with him. "Sorry about that; I forgot I still had the... Okay, could you drop that pose? You look silly. It's very distracting."

Rodney, exhaling in rapid bursts as he tried to process what had just happened, straightened himself, turned around carefully, and tried to look suitably unimpressed, unintimidated, and force-to-be-reckoned-with-ish. He folded his arms, pretended they weren't shaking, and raised his chin defiantly. "All right, who are you?"

The young woman before him apparently hailed from Planet Biker Chick, or at least, that's what her appearance suggested to him. Her hair was shaved on the back and sides, with a dark brown ponytail gushing from the crown. The hair surrounding the ponytail on the top of her head was cut very short, about a quarter-inch in length, and was arranged in a series of small spikes reminiscent of the silver studs one might expect to find on a black leather bracelet, gauntlet, or – more terrifyingly – collar. On top of all of this, the spiked portion of her hair had been somehow colored to appear silver. Not gray or white, mind you, but literally _metallic silver._

She was fiddling with a hand-held gray box, crudely constructed to the eyes of a man who'd been working with the godlike technology of Atlantis for over four years. The woman seemed almost to have forgotten him as she frowned at the device, turning dials with great concentration.

He was about to repeat his demand for identification when he was overcome by a wave of nausea. He flopped forward into hurling position, but the sensation was gone as suddenly as it had come. Straightening again, he shouted, "Hey!" rather weakly.

The woman looked up, frowned at him as though he were not reacting as planned, and fiddled with the dial some more. "Huh. I thought that would turn it off..."

The floor tilted abruptly and Rodney found himself staggering.

"Oops," the woman said, and suddenly the floor was still and level again. Well, it was still; whoever had constructed this place had done so without the aid of a level.

"All right, just what the—" But a powerful tickling sensation in his nose provoked a round of intense serial sneezing, rendering further speech impossible.

"Wow, _that's_ new," commented the woman.

The sneezing ceased, leaving Rodney breathless and desperate for a Puff's tissue, though not the kind with lotion, because that always made him break out. (Why couldn't whoever filled the supply orders at the SGC understand that?) He gazed at his tormentor with dread, wondering how she would abuse him next.

She looked at him appraisingly, still holding the device. "Okay, I think I got it. You feel okay now? Normal?"

He did, in fact, and was therefore inclined to be irate. "What the _hell_ did you do to me? What _is_ that thing? And, and... and _who the hell __**are**__ you?_"

She bristled, amazingly enough, in righteous defensiveness. "Hey, sorry, okay? I didn't _mean_ to do all that stuff. It's not like this thing came with detailed instructions!"

He really didn't know where to start with reacting to _that,_ so he focused on the device still in her hands. "You used that on me without understanding what it does? Boy, were you born too late. You could've been Mengele's lab assistant. Now, what _is_ that thing?"

"It... doesn't have a name. Yet."

"Well, where did you get it?"

The woman grinned. "I made it."

Rodney's outrage had merely been budding before. Now he felt it blossom like a rose opening up in time-lapse footage.

"And you need _instructions_ for it? What, did you assemble it blindfolded? Do you have problems with short-term memory? Are you —"

"I said I made it, not that I invented all the technology. I knew roughly what it would do, just not all the specifics. I thought it would only affect balance, but your sneezing suggests that it also—"

Contorting his face in horror, Rodney yelped, "You used me as a _guinea pig?_ It... could have done _anything!_ It, it might've... My head could've exploded!"

"Oh, relax. I tried it out on some other people first."

Rodney's mouth worked silently a little before producing more words. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" The fact that it actually _did_ make him feel better probably said something about him as a person, but this was no time for soul-searching.

The mention of other people made him think of his team, and a cold knot formed in his stomach. "I was with three other people. Where are they?"

Shrugging casually, she answered, "I dunno."

"_What?"_

She looked confused. "How should I know where they are?"

Rodney took a step toward her but stopped when she raised the device threateningly. "What did you do to my team?" he demanded. He sounded rather dangerous; it made him wish Sheppard could hear him right now. Ronon too, for that matter.

Sudden understanding flooded her face, and she actually laughed. "Oh! Nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, but nothing worse than I did to you. They're fine, wherever they are. I assume they went back to wherever you came from once the effects wore off."

At his look of confusion, she waved a hand and smiled as though they were meeting under pleasant circumstances. "Look, why don't we sit down and I'll explain everything."

He followed her gesture and noticed a small, simple wooden table and three chairs a few feet away. For the first time, he took a look around; they seemed to be in a one-room cabin, one not terribly well-built. A cool breeze sneaked in through a crack in one wall, and he stumbled slightly on an uneven floorboard as he moved to take a seat across from this puzzling woman.

She had the device on the table and was eager to explain how it worked. "It seems to have a variety of effects on the subject, allowing me to cause vertigo, induce nausea, mess with their spatial orientation. Until just now, I thought it just affected the inner ear, but since I managed to create an urge to sneeze, I'm wondering if it also has the ability to screw with the sinus cavity and nasal passages, or oh! Maybe it works directly on the brain. It's so hard to tell, because—"

"Oh god..."

"Oh, stop it! I told you no one else I tested it on suffered any permanent effects."

He stared at her. "No, you didn't tell me that!"

"Well, I implied it. It's how I rendered you and your friends helpless. I made you all fall down, then I grabbed you while you were all disoriented and hustled you back through the gate." Seeing his face at the mention of his team, she tapped his hand in a brusque gesture of comfort. "But you really don't need to worry about them, okay, because I released them from the effect just before we went through the Ancestral ring."

"Fine," he said, no longer concerned about Sheppard and the others and not really too worried about his own safety anymore, but pretty damned pissed off by the whole situation. "Just who the hell _are_ you, and what do you want?"

"I told you already."

"No! No, you haven't!"

"Well, I _would_ have, if you hadn't kept interrupting."

All set to bark a harsh response, Rodney found he was, amazingly, too angry to properly articulate his feelings, so he sat back in the chair and rubbed his forehead instead. "Just tell me. Why. You brought me. Here."

"Oh, that." She rifled through a leather pouch. "I was answering your request."

He sighed. He was actually losing the ability to feel surprise. Something to do with being in shock, perhaps. "What request?"

She stopped rummaging long enough to flash a look his way, the kind of look that teenagers have been giving parents for decades – the "I guess senility is setting in" look.

A spark of indignation was generated, but all he could manage was, "Sorry, I just don't remember asking you for anything, which is probably because until today, I didn't know you existed."

She rolled her eyes. "I know you weren't asking me _specifically._ I'm talking about this." She slapped a piece of paper – 8 1/2" by 11" – onto the tabletop and looked at him questioningly. "This _was_ open to anyone, right?"

Staring at the paper, upon which was printed a picture of Rodney and some text, Rodney felt his anger shift and sort of crystallize. "Oh. My. God." He turned his face toward the ceiling, which he noticed would be leaking if it were raining right now, and bellowed, "Sheppard! You _ass!_"

Huh. Guess he _wasn't_ too angry to articulate it.


	2. Chapter 2

John stood in the doorway of Carter's office. "You wanted to see me?" He figured if he stayed in the doorway, he could subtly communicate his need to be elsewhere, looking for and following up on leads to McKay's whereabouts.

She glanced up briefly. "Sit down, Colonel."

Damn. Subtle was never gonna be his forte.

Once he was seated, Carter set a piece of paper on the desktop and pushed it toward him. "Can you explain this to me?"

A minor "oh, shit" reaction occurred in the pit of his stomach, but years of practice allowed John to divert it long before it reached his face. "Depends. I don't know too much about paper, but I hear they start with wood pulp and—"

"Are you responsible for this, Colonel?"

"No," he said decisively, "no, I am not." After a beat, he added, "Well, not really." Another beat. "It depends on what you mean by 'responsible'..."

She surprised him by slapping the desktop in a rare physical display of annoyance. "Are you the one who wrote this ad? That's what I mean by 'responsible!'"

"No! I mean, I wrote something that this was based on, yes, but it's been sorta... refined... since then."

"Refined by whom?"

"I'm really not sure who all had a hand in it." As Carter looked to be nearing the slapping point again, he raised a hand and quickly said, "Seriously, I don't know exactly who made this. Let me tell you what I do know."

It had all started soon after John's initial run-in with Larrin. Rodney had complained about the fact that _he_ never got taken prisoner by hot female aliens, and in response, John had written a mock-personal ad:

"_Single supergenius seeks hot alien babe to kidnap him for nefarious purposes. Interests include astrophysics, engineering, blue Jello, whales, video games, and losing at chess. Respondents should be brilliant, beautiful, and have a thick skin. Interested parties may reply with best attempt at abduction."_

John had emailed it to Rodney the following day, whose reply was along the lines of, "Oh, haha. _One time_ you checkmated me, when my concentration was off. You are so on for a rematch, if you dare."

Carter was staring him down. "And?"

"And... we played another game a few days later." He smiled at the memory. "I beat him again. Boy, was he pissed."

"I'm talking about the ad! What happened to it after that?"

John shrugged. "I'm not sure. Someone must have seen the email on Rodney's screen or hacked into one of our accounts or something." At her look of shock, he just said, "It's the lack of an internet – I think they miss the challenge. Anyway, the next time I saw something like it, it was totally rewritten and had a picture of Rodney bawling out Miko. You know, with his mouth open a mile wide and his hands in the air and that wild look in his eyes."

Rodney had nailed him just as John was leaving his quarters, shoving the printout in his face. "You! This is _your_ doing!"

Taking a step back, John had irritably yanked the paper from Rodney's hand and smirked, "Nice pic. It really captures your essence, I think."

"This is outrageous! It's one thing to have some harmless email fun between friends, _Colonel,_ but when I walk into my lab and find copies of this little gem _taped to the walls,_ I have to draw the—"

"Wait a sec, just calm the hell down. I didn't have anything to do with _this_ version."

"You expect me to believe that?"

John sighed impatiently and read through the text of the ad. "Do you honestly think I would have used the word 'vainglorious?'"

Frowning, Rodney yanked the paper back and re-read. "Hmm. It's spelled correctly, too. You're right, you had nothing to do with this."

"Which was kinda unfair," John told Carter now, "because I did win the school spelling bee in sixth grade."

"Colonel Sheppard," she said, and John figured it wasn't good that she was using both title and name, "can you tell me how copies of this ad managed to find themselves off-world?"

"No. First I knew of it was when a marine reported seeing it on a couple different planets. Lorne and I never managed to root out who started posting them during missions, but we made sure everyone understood that regardless who was responsible for it, nobody on a gate team would be receiving shipments from the Daedalus until every damn copy of that ad had been retrieved. Took a few days, but we managed to get 'em all."

Carter thought about that for a moment, her eyes eventually widening. "Wait a minute. When was this? Was this the reason for that flurry of 'round-the-clock gate missions a few months ago?"

"Um..."

"The ones you told me were search parties looking for Dr. Parrish?"

John shifted into a defensive posture. "Okay, yeah, but it wasn't really a lie. Lorne instructed Parrish to go off-world and... hide." At her blank look, he sheepishly added, "You know, to make the search parties... not be a lie."

"And this seemed like a better course than just telling me the truth?"

"Well, you hadn't been here very long. We didn't want you to think we were a bunch of wackos."

Carter held up her hands, palms up. "What could possibly make me think that?"

Clearing his throat, John moved on. "So anyway, that's the story behind the personal ad. I'm sorry it happened, and looking back, we maybe coulda handled the whole thing better, but right now, shouldn't we be concentrating on finding out what happened to McKay?"

"I think this—" Carter tapped the ad with an index finger "— offers a pretty good clue to what happened to him."

"What? How? I told you, I threatened those teams with their _supply runs._ Lorne personally supervised the operation. We got every copy of that ad back within a few days of it being leaked."

"Colonel." She picked up the paper and jiggled it, causing it to rustle. "One of the teams searching for McKay _just brought this back_ from off-world."

John's face betrayed his shock as he slumped in his chair. "Oh." He ran a hand over his face, then smirked wanly. "Gotta give props to viral marketing, huh?"

* * *

"No, no, _no!_" Rodney yelled. It was just his luck to be kidnapped by the least desirable personal ad respondent in the known universe.

"Stop yelling!" the biker chick yelled back. "My hearing is perfect – or it was until you came along!"

"_Came along?_ Came alo— I didn't just stroll into your life, remember? You kidnapped me! You were lying in wait! I was just minding my own business, doing my job, when you swept in out of nowhere and took me against my will!"

"But you asked for it!"

"Hello, logical impossibility! If I _wanted_ to be taken against my will, it wouldn't _be_ 'against my will,' now would it?"

She frowned and even sort of pouted, rendering her unexpectedly cute, even if she was still a loony with a dangerous brain-twisting device and a hairstyle that looked like something you'd use to clean mud from your shoe treads. "Then why did you publish this request? I've seen it on at least three different worlds."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you! I didn't publish this ad. I didn't even write it! It was never anything but a joke – a stupid, juvenile, planned-with-the-brainpower-of-lobotomized-monkeys kind of joke."

She stared at him, looked at the ad, then back at him again. "But... how can it be a joke? It's not even funny."

"Bingo!" cried Rodney, pounding the table with his fist. "At last, something we agree on."

Groaning, the woman fell forward dramatically, burying her face against her arms on the table. Rodney blinked and startled a little as the ponytail whipped forward and lightly stung his hand. The back of her head was covered with brown stubble; it had apparently been some time since it was shaved. It looked sort of velvety and he had a powerful urge to touch it and find out if it really felt that soft.

Luckily, this particular trip to Crazytown was postponed when she abruptly raised herself to a sitting position and briskly announced, "Well, it doesn't matter. We can still do it."

Blushing slightly with the knowledge of how close he'd come to feeling up her scalp, Rodney was flummoxed. "We can? We can what? What can we still do?"

"The kidnapping. I admit, I preferred it when I thought it was a mutual thing, but I see no reason why it still can't work out."

Rodney, of course, could see any number of reasons why it wouldn't work out, but articulating them was a problem when he was dealing with someone who wasn't accepting outside input.

"After all," she continued, stuffing the ad back into her pouch, "you'll still be very useful to me, because it's not like _my_ needs disappeared when I found out this was all just a joke, right? And since I really did handle it like a real kidnapping, I have the means—" she tapped the device— "to compel your cooperation, which I now realize won't be given willingly. So it all works out all right, if not exactly the way I had planned."

She'd shouldered the pouch and stood as she finished this little speech, aiming the device at Rodney. "So, now that we finally have reached an understanding, I will ask you to come with me and not give me any trouble, or else I'll have to, you know." She mimed turning one of the dials and then swayed side-to-side, rolling her eyes and waving her free hand.

Feeling cheated wasn't something Rodney tended to respond to well. He remained seated and fixed her with an obstinate glare. "Wait a minute. What understanding did we reach, exactly? You found out your assumption was mistaken, and I found out you're a... Wait, I didn't find out _anything_ about you!"

"Why would you need to know anything about me?"

"Why did you answer this ad?"

"Because I—" She caught herself and glared. "It doesn't matter. I'm the one with weapon. _I'm_ in charge here."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that," Rodney gloated, leaning forward in his seat. "I mean, yes, you have the portable Vertigo Maker, but you barely understand how to use it. And whatever you want me for, by your own admission, requires my cooperation. Now, I hate being dizzy as much as the next guy, but as instruments of coercion go, the Stumble-a-tron there leaves something to be desired."

"Oh, really?"

She twisted a dial viciously. Rodney cringed and braced himself.

Nothing happened.

Straightening, he smiled triumphantly and folded his arms. His captor's eyes widened as they looked to the device. She slapped it a couple of times, prompting him to snort, "Problem?"

She was clearly panicked and distracted. If he was ever gonna pull of any of that action-hero stuff Sheppard and Ronon seemed able to do in their sleep, now was the time... when he was up against an inept kidnapper he outweighed substantially whose attention was on something else.

He lunged forward, intending to cross the tabletop and snatch the device from her hands. However, the instant he began to move, he was overcome by nausea. His forward motion was diluted as his legs wobbled underneath him, and instead of crossing the table, he crashed his ribs crashed into the side of it, sending it toward his charming hostess. Holding his ribs, he hit the un-level floor on his knees as the table collided with the kidnapper.

Crouching beside the table, he saw her legs scrambling to keep her body balanced and upright. Glancing upward just as she lost that battle and fell onto the table, he took advantage of no longer feeling sick and arose, grabbing for the device. The upward movement renewed the nausea and a voice in his head said, _Motion sickness! That's what this setting does!_

He planted his feet and tried to keep his head and torso as still as possible while wresting the device from her grip. She'd recovered enough to realize what he was after and had managed to retain her grasp even though she was now on her back on the tabletop. Rodney groaned, understanding that it was going to be necessary to move in order to take full possession of the instrument. He tightened his fingers around the metal box and yanked as hard as he could, stepping backward as he did so.

His stomach set sail on stormy seas as he pulled the device off the table. Unfortunately, the kidnapper still had a hold on it and as her body left the table, gravity cried, "Mine!" and pulled her to the floor. Rodney was obliged to follow or surrender the box.

"Ow! My _back!_" he barked, now too angry to allow the nausea to get in his way. He rolled onto his stomach and tugged harder on the device. Their faces were inches apart, and when she realized her grip was giving out, she shocked the hell out of him with a head-butt. Rodney cried out – _god,_ that had _hurt!_ – but he wouldn't release the box. Inspired by her primitive attack, he pushed the metal box sharply upward, striking her in the chin. Presto! The device was free.

Who said violence never solved anything?

She was apparently stunned, which gave him a small window of opportunity. From a pocket of his tac vest, Rodney drew a small precision screwdriver and scratched a short line into the base of the box directly over the top of each dial. Then he scratched corresponding lines on the dials themselves to meet the ones on the box. Beneath those, he scrawled "MS" for "motion sickness."

He was absorbed in this work and forgot he was supposed to be watching for signs of reanimation in his opponent (really, guarding prisoners was so not his thing); it was just his good luck that she issued a cry of rage as she lunged toward him. More proof of her stupidity; stealth was clearly indicated in a situation like this.

_Not_ being stupid, he responded quickly, aiming the device at her. The reaction was immediate: she sank to her knees. "Blood of a wraith!" she gasped. "What are you doing to me?"

"According to you, 'nothing,'" Rodney said smugly. "Although where I come from, it's generally known as 'payback.'"

Curious about the purpose of the second dial, he gave it a clockwise twist as well. It didn't seem to have any effect on the kidnapper, but when he turned his head, it swam enough to suggest that the dial controlled the range of whatever field it generated. He hastily dialed it back to the previous position. The last thing he needed was to make _himself_ sick.

He'd expected her to succumb, at least long enough for him to start figuring out his next move toward getting the hell back to Atlantis, but her will was strong. Fighting through the motion sickness, she started toward him on her hands and knees. Frowning, he twisted the top dial a quarter turn clockwise.

Immediately she stopped moving, blinked frantically as she stared without focus, and waved one hand in front of her face. "_Blind!_" she screamed. Rodney actually heard the window behind him rattle with the sound. "You _beast!_ You've made me _blind!_" She collapsed to the floor in despair, churning out hysterical sobs.

Part of him received this news with a certain satisfaction, but her distress was so intense that it unnerved him. Nothing the device had done to him had been quite as disturbing as blindness. Not wishing to be cruel, he decided to change the setting. He marked the dial first; it would be handy to know how to avoid (or repeat) that affliction.

She was so consumed with grief over her lost sight that she didn't seem to notice it had returned. Shouting over her wails, Rodney snapped his fingers impatiently. "Hey! Hey, Metallica – open your eyes!"

Gulping and gasping as she realized her sight had been restored, she slowly sat up. With both hands, she wiped copious tears from her cheeks and eyes, sniffling and huffing shuddery little sighs as she gradually calmed down. She looked up at him with doubt and fear in her eyes, which made him unexpectedly uncomfortable.

Offering a smile meant to convey good will, Rodney said, "See? All better. Sorry about the blindness; I didn't know that would happen, obviously. But now, maybe we can talk a little, okay? I'm more than willing to hear all about why you needed me enough to resort to kidnapping, and maybe I'll even be able to help you out, as long as you tell me certain things, such as what planet we're on right now. Okay? Now, let's start with your name."

She stared at him in silence long enough for him to wonder if he'd now made her deaf. "It's Tarru," she said finally.

"Tarru. Um, great, good. Lovely name. Mine's Rodney – Doctor Rodney McKay. See how well we get along when we agree to be civil?"

Sniffing again, Tarru merely nodded, smiling shyly. He returned the smile until he saw her gaze move to the window behind him and her expression turn to horror. He spun around to see what new threat had arrived to make this experience just that much suckier, only to feel Tarru's body slam into his legs in a tackle that would probably have made any football coach in North America proud.


	3. Chapter 3

"All we wanna know," Sheppard was saying, "is whether anyone showed any special interest in that paper while it was hanging on your wall." He gave a smile that he probably thought looked non-threatening, even friendly.

Teyla rolled her eyes. Why could he never learn that no one believed his smiling face while his arms cradled a huge weapon against his chest?

Barn, proprietor of the local gathering place, licked his lips as his eyes obsessively darted between their copy of Rodney's personal ad and Sheppard's P-90. There would be no useful information from him as long as he felt so threatened.

"Perhaps you and Ronon," she said with a smile, "could go and question some of the people of this village." She gave a meaningful glance at the door. John looked puzzled, turned to glance at the door, and then frowned back at her. Suppressing a sigh, Teyla smiled with the warmth of a bonfire. "I will stay and talk some more with Barn."

Judging from the way he beamed, Barn found this suggestion more than a little appealing. Teyla wondered which component was more attractive: her company or the absence of John and his gun.

Finally getting the message, John looked a little hurt, as though she'd told him he should leave because his hair was frightening the children. Ronon shot her a knowing smirk and told John, "Saw some villagers on the way here. Some of 'em looked kinda suspicious."

Not fooled, John nevertheless turned to go. "We'll be outside," he let her know, as though Barn might attack her with his stained apron or ale-soaked washcloth.

Barn's relief and residual nervousness were so palpable that she felt obliged to reassure him, "Colonel Sheppard is a good man. We are simply worried about our friend."

She touched the paper, her fingers brushing a photograph printed there, and lured Barn's mind back to the topic. "We believe that someone acted upon this joking request for an abduction. So far, we have had no success in finding this person. We're asking people in all the places we know this paper was present if they recall anyone who took more than a casual interest in it."

Barn glanced at the paper again and shrugged, looking truly apologetic. "I'm sorry. This was hanging by the skelts board for weeks. There were always people gathered over there, adding up the scores and taking down the skelts for the next round."

Hiding her frustration behind another smile, Teyla answered, "I understand. But perhaps you saw someone looking at the paper who was not playing skelts?"

Barn began wiping a nearby table. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head.

"Or someone who kept returning to look at the paper again and again?"

The table now clean, Barn moved back behind the counter, again shaking his head. "I don't recall anything like that." Seeing her obvious disappointment, he put a hand on her arm. "I wish I could help you." His eyes traveled back to the paper in her hand. "Your friend looks..." He seemed at a loss. "He... must have some special qualities."

Teyla looked at the paper. Numerous versions of the personal ad had been distributed. Some had the picture of McKay shouting at Miko. Others sported one taken immediately after someone told him the meal he'd just eaten contained citrus. (It hadn't.)

This version used a collage of these and other photos, the centerpiece being one of Rodney sound asleep at his laptop, the side of his face smashed against the keyboard. His mouth was open.

"He is a very special man," she insisted, feeling, to her shame, a little embarrassed. "These pictures do not accurately convey his value."

"I expect not," Barn said, leaning against the counter and laughing. "From those images, it's hard to imagine anyone wanting to kidnap such a person in the first place, much less going to great lengths to rescue him."

"Dr. McKay is a talented scientist," Teyla said defensively. "Many have employed dishonorable means to acquire him for his knowledge and expertise."

Laughing again, Barn shook his head and reached under the counter to retrieve a large jug. "If you say so." Pouring a beverage into an earthenware cup, he held up a second with a questioning look, which she answered with a shake of her head. "Never know he's anything but a buffoon from those pictures," he proclaimed, taking a sizable drink.

Teyla pushed her shoulders back to convey her disapproval of his attitude. "A clownish appearance does not always indicate one is a fool." Playing back the words in her mind, she wasn't certain this was an effective defense of her teammate.

Swallowing, Barn started to laugh again. "You sound like that girl last moon. She..." He frowned suddenly, pursing his lips in thought. "You know, _she_ seemed awfully interested in that poster, now that I think of it."

Suddenly alert, Teyla pressed. "Who was she? Do you know where she is?"

He shook his head. "Haven't seen her since last moon. She was from some other world, here to trade. I only remember her because she annoyed some of the skelts players, standing in the way of the board to look at the paper. They insulted her hairstyle, trying to get her to leave, and she told them that to us, she might look silly, but where she came from, she was a traditional beauty."

"Please," Teyla said urgently, "tell me more about this girl."

* * *

Teyla was in such a hurry for them to get to the gate that she was running. It made no difference to Ronon – as Rodney often said, running was his "thing" – but it was entertaining to watch Sheppard trying to get his questions answered while juggling his P-90, keeping an eye out for any potential threats, and trying to keep up with the two of them.

Sometimes Ronon felt sorry for John. Usually he just felt amused.

"So you're saying that guy..." John said breathlessly, "that guy Borne..."

"Barn," Teyla corrected him, not breaking stride.

"Yeah, him. He told you who kidnapped Rodney."

"No. He told me about a woman who showed great interest in the ad."

"Oh." John waited a few steps before continuing; Ronon could hear him breathing harder. "So this woman – what's her name?"

"He did not know."

For a short time, there was only the sound of their combined footfalls.

"So, we don't know her name, and we don't know if she took Rodney."

"That is true," Teyla answered. Ronon admired her running form and noted with satisfaction that her voice did not sound winded.

John, however, was certainly huffing. "Wait. Why are we—"

"She showed a pronounced interest in Rodney's ad," Teyla interrupted, anticipating his questions. "On no other world we've investigated have we found such a lead. It is very likely she played some role in Rodney's disappearance."

"'Kay," John said. Ronon grinned at the way his footfalls were getting noisier as his fatigue and frustration mounted. "But... we don't have a name. How are we—"

"Barn described the woman to me. She wears her hair in very unusual manner. I recognized the style."

More time passed without words. From the sound of his breathing, Sheppard might not be able to do much more than gasp.

"You... You're telling me... you know... this woman?"

"I do not think so. I simply recognized the hairstyle Barn described. It is the traditional hairstyle of a people known as the Surrosans."

Ronon's interest was suddenly kindled. "What'd this hairstyle look like?"

"Barn said she wore it shaved on the back and sides, quite long at the crown, with short silvery spikes on the very top of the head."

"Uh-huh."

Ronon hadn't planned to say more, but Sheppard said, "Why'd ya ask?... Thinking of... changing your look?"

"Just curious. Used to know the Surrosans."

Wrong thing to say. Teyla slowed slightly and turned to face him, still running. "You have been to Surrosa?"

"Yeah. Few years before I met you guys."

Delighted, Teyla smiled brightly. "They are a fascinating people. Very interested in the sciences, engineering, architecture. They were building a grand observatory the last time I was there."

Ronon grunted.

"They must have finished it by now. Did you see it when you visited their world?"

"I didn't stay long."

Turning around to face forward again, Teyla said, "I had feared they were culled. It has been a long time since my people have heard from them."

"They keep to themselves these days," Ronon said. A few strides passed, moments filled with the sounds of Sheppard's lungs. "He was sure about the hair? Barn?"

"Very sure. Why? Do you know of another people who wear their hair that way?"

"No. But last time I saw a Surrosan, they weren't wearin' their hair like that anymore."

"Well," Sheppard gasped, "y'know how it is... times change... fashions... come 'n go..."

"I am surprised," Teyla said, sounding troubled. "They seemed so committed to their traditions."

"Things change," Ronon said.

They were nearing the gate. Sheppard slowed as they approached the DHD, resting his hands on his knees. "Teyla, do you know the—"

"I remember the gate address," she told him, already beginning to dial.

John began to cough. Ronon slapped him on the back. It wasn't helpful, just fun.

The wormhole engaged. This would probably be interesting.

* * *

"If you could take all of the stargates in this galaxy..." Rodney said.

"I would melt them all down," Tarru interrupted, "to ensure that I would never actually meet you."

"... and you straightened them out so they were lines instead of circles..."

"That would work, too. No chance of traveling through a ring that's not a ring anymore, is there?"

"... and then you lined them up end to end and measured the quite considerable distance..."

"Distance! I never fully appreciated the concept until now."

"... you would still fall breathtakingly short of comprehending the truly _staggering_ depth of my loathing for you."

"Yeah? Ditto."

"Oh please, don't strain yourself searching for just the right comeback," Rodney panted. "Okay, stop. We're stopping here to rest a while."

"Anything that means we can stop touching each other," she snarled, "is something I'll happily applaud."

She pushed off, letting go of his waist as he gratefully removed his arm from around her shoulders, and each of them dropped to the ground.

Rodney put a hand to the small of his back and grimaced. "I'll be lucky to avoid disc surgery after this little escapade. How much further is this place?"

"We're close. We'll travel faster, though, if we do it in silence."

"Why? Are there patrols to avoid? Guards?"

"No," she spat. "It's the sound of your voice. It fills me with rage and I waste a lot of energy trying not to act on violent impulses."

Rodney waved a hand airily. "Please! I could write a book on living with controlled rage, and you'd only be a small section in one chapter. And may I remind you that this entire situation? Is your own fault!"

"I didn't _intend_ for you to break the machine!"

"Me! I'm not the one who tackled the person holding the damn thing!"

"Well, how did I know you'd be clumsy enough to land on it and snap the dials off? Do you have any idea how hard I worked to put that thing together?"

Rodney held up the battered device with a look of incredulous contempt. "This piece of crap? I did better work when I was in preschool. And I told you before, it's more than just the dials being snapped off. I could _easily_ fix that. It's the fact that this flimsy casing collapsed enough to crush the bargain-basement components inside. Whoever taught you engineering should be shot."

She glared at him before turning her back on him completely. He wondered if insulting someone's teacher was some sort of unthinkable _faux pas_ on this planet. At least she was giving him some space in which to think in blessed silence.

They'd been lucky, really. The broken device might have left them both blind or deathly motion-sick. Instead, the impact had apparently selected a setting that affected their equilibrium – when Rodney tried to walk, he found himself bearing to the right to such an extent that he could only walk in circles. Fortunately, Tarru was afflicted with the mirror image of this, bearing to the left. If they stood side-by-side and held on to each other, they could manage to walk a more or less straight path.

He cleared his throat. She didn't turn around. "We should..." He gestured even though she wasn't looking. "We should probably get moving again."

Without a word, she stood. She didn't look at him as his arm encircled her shoulders and hers threaded around his waist again. She raised a hand to point out their direction, and the pair resumed their odd sack-race gait.

Normally, Rodney was a great fan of other people shutting up. However, it would seem he had managed to hurt Tarru rather deeply, and while he still thought she was stupid and incompetent on multiple levels – not to mention a common criminal – he wasn't above feeling a little guilty. The silence grew heavier with each awkward step, until he started searching for ways to break the ice.

"So, this place we're going to. It's some kind of lab?"

She still didn't look at him. "It's _my_ lab."

"Ah." Visions of a spare bedroom strewn with Legos, a Lite-Brite and an beginner's electronics set from Radio Shack flashed in his mind. "You have the equipment to repair this thing, then?"

"Yes. I think so."

He tried not to ask, he really really tried. "Okay, sorry, but... Is there _anyone_ else there? Scientists or technicians or a mechanic or—"

She stopped moving so suddenly he nearly fell. "There's _no one else,_ okay? It's just me. It's _just me!_"

Suddenly, Tarru was sobbing brokenheartedly. Far more disturbingly, her face was buried against his chest and her arms locked around him.

The horrors just kept piling up today.

"Um..." Shit, wasn't it bad enough that he was cooperating with his kidnapper? Was he seriously expected to _console_ her, too? Rolling his eyes, he patted her shoulder matter-of-factly. "It's okay. There, there. Get it all out. That's right."

He glanced at his watch and sighed as surreptitiously as possible. "Um... okay, look, maybe you should just tell me about it, huh? Then you'll feel a lot better and I'll... know what the hell is going on, hopefully."

Sniffling, she pulled away and wiped her face with her hands. "Fine. Here's the story: I'm the last of the scientists on my world."

He blinked. "You're really a scientist?"

She glared at him as she fished through her pouch. Finding what she was looking for – a handkerchief – she blew her nose before answering. "Well, you wouldn't be a very skillful engineer either if you'd never had anyone to teach you."

"Actually, from a very young age, I..." He rethought that line of conversation immediately. "No one to teach you? Did all the scientists die or something?"

"No," she said sullenly. "Once, my people were consumed by the sciences. It was the driving force of our culture. We were even building a huge observatory to further our studies of the sky. I was going to be an astronomer. I was looking forward to spending my life cataloging the heavens."

"Oh! Well, that explains a few things, at least. Sorry, sorry. Go on."

"Well... then something happened. I'm not sure exactly why, but almost overnight, our leaders became convinced that the Ancestors frowned on technical and scientific achievements and rewarded only physical prowess. Suddenly, the observatory we were building became a gymnasium, and I went from studying the heavens to learning to scale walls."

Rodney pondered this. "Wow. That's a really weird shift in priorities."

"Tell me about it. Have you ever tried to climb a stone wall six times your height with your bare hands?"

"God, no." For the first time, he felt a wave of empathy for her. If the authorities in his life had forced him out of science and into rock-climbing, he probably would have wept, too. Then found a way to blow them up, of course.

"Anyway," Tarru continued, "I rebelled. I refused to keep studying something that I was neither good at nor interested in, and so I openly defied our leaders and resumed my pursuit of the sciences."

"Well, that was certainly courageous."

"That's just what _I_ said! Unfortunately, _they_ felt my actions were evidence of mental instability."

With considerable effort, Rodney said nothing. It was certainly easy to see both sides here.

"So right before they were about to put me into a mental health detention unit, I went underground."

Eying her hair, Rodney said, "You sure didn't choose an ideal look for blending in, did you?"

She put a hand self-consciously to her head, looking affronted. "This is the traditional hairstyle of my people," she said defensively. "This is how we _all_ used to look, until our society gave way to madness."

"Oh." Rodney tried to imagine a society in which such a hairstyle was considered normal. On Earth, even among scientists – admittedly not the most gifted in terms of fashion sense – the whole metallic spikes thing would be considered fairly radical. "How do they wear their hair these days?"

She shuddered. "Oh, it's too hideous to describe. It's just... well, you've never seen anything like it, believe me."

If he'd learned nothing else in his life, Rodney had learned that arguing about aesthetics was as hazardous as it was ultimately unproductive. Time to turn the conversation toward a more useful topic. "Tarru, why exactly did you kidnap me? What did you think I could do for you?"

She looked toward the ground and blushed, embarrassed. "I can't make a lot of our old technology work. I need help identifying it and understanding how to use it."

Rodney blinked. That... actually, that didn't sound too difficult or unreasonable.

"Then, once we have it all working again, we will use it to _crush_ this culture of athleticism and forcibly restore the dominance of science in our society."

Okay, yeah, that? Would be where lines were crossed. "Now, let's get something straight here. I can take a look at your technology and I can _maybe_ help you get some of it working. But I can't help you overthrow any governments or take over societies or anything like that."

Her face contorted into a mask of outrage and shock. "But you have to! It's the whole reason I answered your request!"

"We've been over that! It was all a joke! That ad was never a sincere request."

"That doesn't matter! I thought it was real when I planned all of this!"

"Yes, and I'm very sorry you went to the trouble of planning and committing this major felony on the basis of a very bad joke, but the fact remains that I can't help you take over your world!"

"You have to help me!" Tarru wailed. "The fate of my people depends on finding our way back to our true destiny. We have to return to our pursuit of the sciences."

"Look, this is really hard for me to say, but what if the sciences aren't your people's destiny after all?" Thinking of how utterly inept Tarru was with anything remotely technical, it wasn't hard to suppose that science was maybe not her people's forte. "Maybe for your people, athletics really are more important than science."

They stood staring at one another for a long moment before Rodney suddenly cracked up. "Okay, yeah, that's even more absurd out loud than it was in my head. Still, it doesn't change things. I can't help you force your people to give up their current... What are you doing now?"

Tarru had begun rummaging through her pouch again, finally bringing out a sleek-looking piece of technology and aiming it at Rodney. "I'd almost forgotten about this. I'm sorry to have to do this, but if you won't willingly help me, I have no choice. Now, say you'll help me, or I'll be forced to... do whatever this thing does."

"It detects life signs," Rodney said flatly, stepping forward and yanking the device from her hands. "I forgot I was holding this when you attacked me." Glancing at her pouch, he grabbed it as well, fighting her off long enough to get a good look at the contents. "Sorry, but I thought I ought to check to see of my sidearm was in there."

"I thought _that_ was the sidearm," she said sullenly. "I left those other things on the planet thinking they were locater devices and scientific instruments."

"You've really got great instincts, haven't you?" Rodney said. "This isn't a weapon, it's a life signs detector, and..." He blinked as he noted a number of dots approaching their location. "Huh. You wouldn't happen to be expecting company, would you?"

"What? Of course not. Why would... wait! Are you saying there are people coming?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

"Then we have to hurry!" Tarru began to tug his arm frantically. "I'm a fugitive! If they catch me now, there's no chance of ever getting back to my lab, and I'll never be able to start the scientific revolution!"  
A revolution of one person – particularly if that one person was Tarru – seemed like a doomed enterprise already. Rodney paused; if he delayed long enough for them to be caught, he would almost certainly be able to negotiate with her government for the right to return to Atlantis or at least contact them for help. Tarru was a fugitive, after all, and had kidnapped him.

"Don't even think what you're thinking!" she hissed, apparently not bothered by the illogic of that command. "If they capture me, they won't let us go back to my lab, and you'll be stuck with this equilibrium problem forever."

Realistically, the chances of curing this problem with his ample intellect and Atlantian medical technology were excellent. Still, solving the problem _now_ rather than having to go back to Atlantis unable to walk a straight line was highly attractive, especially when he projected the amount of razzing he'd be subjected to by Sheppard.

"Fine," he hissed back, putting his arm once again around her waist, which he couldn't help noticing was narrow and rather cute. "But the only reason I'm going to your lab is to fix this stupid toy of yours, understand?"

Tarru smiled grimly, which didn't exactly comfort him but hey, he couldn't exactly lay down the law about how she could smile, right? The two of them loped awkwardly away at last.


	4. Chapter 4

Standing at the foot of the gate ramp on the Surrosan homeworld, Teyla briefed John and Ronon on what to expect.

"They are a peaceful, cerebral people who devote themselves to study and learning. Their city is not far from here." She gestured in the direction they should travel and the three of them began walking briskly.

The surroundings were pleasant, rich with vegetation. "Kinda like a park," John noted as they headed down a path paved with stones cut into geometric shapes. He glanced around. This place could be made into a decent Frisbee golf course. He wondered if the Surrosans would be up for a little cultural exchange.

"The Surrosans are meticulous about their environment," Teyla said. "Their architecture is clean and mathematically precise, their buildings immaculately kept. They approach life with scientific precision and great attention to detail. They are a serious-minded, hard-working people."

_So probably no Frisbee golf,_ John thought with a grimace. What was it about serious-minded, hard-working people that made them such total stick-in-the-muds? Hadn't they ever heard that all work and no play makes... John's right foot struck unexpected unevenness and he was headed for a face-plant, fortunately averted by Ronon's steadying hand on his arm.

Bending to the ground, John picked up a piece of broken paving stone. "Meticulous, huh?"

Teyla looked disconcerted. "I am sure that repairs will soon be made. Perhaps they are unaware that the path needs mending."

Nodding, John straightened and they resumed their progress. Teyla continued to wax knowledgeable about the Surrosan cultural obsession with science, order, and precision. All the while, John was aware of the increasingly decaying state of the path. By the time an errant thorny vine caught hold of the sleeve of his black tee and drew blood from his arm, John had heard enough.

"All right, I've heard enough," he said, 'cause he was clever like that. Pulling free of the grabby sticker-vine, he added, "Y'know, Teyla, I can't help noticing that this path seems a little ratty."

Teyla raised an eyebrow. "I have seen no trace of the animals you refer to as 'rodents.'"

_Fine, be like that._ John said, very patiently, "Would you say that this path meets the standard of 'immaculately-keptness' that you would normally expect of the Surrosans?"

Her face fell minutely; John barely managed to contain a triumphant, "Gotcha!" It wasn't very leader-like and besides, she'd only get revenge later during his beati... uh, their sparring session.

"I must admit," she said, "I am a bit surprised by the state of this path. On my previous visits, I never saw so much as a stone out of place or a bush less than perfectly trimmed."

"When were you here last?" Ronon asked her.

"I last visited shortly after I became our leader," she answered. "But others among my people made trading visits later and never reported anything amiss."

"Well, you did say your people haven't heard from them in a while," John said. He gestured with his head that they continue and they resumed walking, now more cautiously. Ordinarily, poor groundskeeping wasn't cause for alarm, but this was Pegasus; in this galaxy, a trip to the garden of Eden could turn to shit even without a treacherous serpent. Hell, even without _apples._

"Ronon," Teyla said, "you have been here much more recently. What do you recall from your visit?"

"I was here twice," the Satedan said. "First time, it was pretty much like you said."

They kept moving in silence until John realized Ronon really wasn't going to continue without prompting. "And the second time?"

Ronon shrugged. "Second time, it was different."

Boy, the big guy really knew how to spin a yarn.

Teyla stepped in front of her large teammate, fixing him with a stern glare. "Ronon, I believe you know more about what has become of the Surrosans than you are saying."

"Yeah," John said, never one to miss a good pile-on. "The second time was different, how?"

They were interrupted in their pursuit of truth by the sounds of nearby combat. Profuse grunting and occasional swearing were punctuated by the sound of wood striking wood and, less often, bodies. Instantly alert, the three of them hurried cautiously down the path toward the sounds.

Turned out they were almost to the end of the path anyway, finding themselves in a clearing that looked to be on the outskirts of the city. What was happening there was... well, if John didn't know any better, he would have thought it was some sort of riot. What convinced him it wasn't was the fact that all the "rioters" were dressed identically in white tunics and black shorts, and all of them were armed with long bamboo-like sticks. In real riots, people didn't dress alike and they generally armed themselves with the most lethal objects they could lay hands upon. Bamboo-y sticks of uniform thickness and length were not the spontaneous violence implements of choice among discerning vigilantes

A closer look told him that the apparent melee was really a group of people sparring in pairs. Swinging their sticks with extreme concentration but an utter lack of skill or precision, it was clear that each combatant was directing his or her aggression at only one partner, although there was a disturbing number of inadvertent strikes, pokes, and tripping up of people in surrounding pairs.

John glanced at Teyla to see if she had any better understanding of what they were looking at here, but her expression was one of complete astonishment. He felt vaguely sympathetic; she'd come here expecting to renew ties with a society of tidy Einsteins, Stephen Hawkings, and Frank Lloyd Wrights and instead had found the Pegasus version of the Keystone Kops.

"Boy, even their hair's different than you expected," he said, failing as usual in the tact department.

"Quite different," she answered tightly.

John frowned, watching the nearest sparring pair as one man got the end of his stick lodged in a hole in the ground and his opponent tripped over it. The first man then slipped and landed on the second, their wild, frizzy locks flying in their faces.

"In fact," John said, turning toward Ronon, "their hair looks a lot like yours."

Teyla grabbed Ronon's arm ungently. "Ronon, who are these people? What happened to the Surrosans?"

"These _are_ the Surrosans."

"That is impossible. The Surr..."

They became aware of a sudden lack of noise and saw that the sparring session had ended. The ground of the clearing was littered with injured, bleeding, groaning people, and even those left standing were bent, bruised, and nursing nosebleeds and eyes swollen shut. Those capable of focusing outward were staring at the three newcomers.

John flashed a friendly smile and waved. "Hey."

When no one reciprocated or, indeed, seemed to notice that he'd spoken, he realized that the people weren't staring at the three of them.

They were staring at Ronon.

A portly short man, completely bald on top but wearing the sides in long reddish-gray dreads – which, yeah, looked every bit as ridiculous it sounds – stepped forward and reverently addressed their Satedan teammate. "Ronon! You've come back! At last, we have a chance to demonstrate our progress. Come, please! The board of governors will want to know you're here." Turning to the erstwhile combatants, he yelled, "That's all for today, students! As you can see, we have an honored guest. We will resume from this point tomorrow. Dismissed!"

"So," John said dubiously, "this was a class." Maybe a class for first aid responders?

The portly man beamed proudly as his students limped away, some of them leaning on their sticks or each other for support. "Yes, my advanced personal combat students. Finest group I've ever taught."

John kept a smile pasted on and nodded politely. If Atlantis established a trading relationship with these people, he guessed that medical supplies would be top of their wish list.

The portly man's attention was once again on Ronon. He clasped his hands together in almost childlike glee. "Oh, I really cannot wait for you to see all that we've done! I know you are going to be very surprised."

"_I_ am already surprised," Teyla said with deceptive mildness.

The man seemed taken aback, as though it had only just dawned on him that Ronon wasn't alone. Gesturing with a hand each toward Teyla and John, he asked Ronon, "These are your... attendants?"

Ronon folded his arms and smirked. John knew it was time to earn that gate team leader stipend and stepped forward. "Lt. Col. John Sheppard. This is Teyla Emmagen, and you obviously know Specialist Ronon Dex."

"I am Juzo, chief cleric and minister of training," said the man, wearing a look of confused annoyance, as though he'd stuck in a DVD he'd really been anticipating and now found himself subjected to a series of ads for _other_ movies that he couldn't simply fast-forward through to get to the feature, which he'd been waiting for for over six months because someone at the SGC kept forgetting to put it on the Daedalus.

Of course, John might be projecting a little.

Juzo nodded to him and Teyla with an insincere smile and then resumed looking at Ronon.

Waving a hand in a way that kinda screamed, "Taxi!", John said, "Actually, _I'm_ the leader of our team."

Juzo's head turned and he sent a look to John that clearly demanded, _Why do you keep speaking?_

Teyla stepped forward before John could justify himself. "My people and yours once enjoyed a fruitful trade relationship," she told Juzo. When he looked confused, she clarified, "My people lived on Athos at the time."

"Oh, yes! I remember them."

Teyla's smile was like the sun coming up, and Juzo responded in kind. She continued. "We have not heard from your people in some time and were unaware of the... immense cultural changes that have taken place here."

Juzo smiled some more. "Yes, many things have changed here since those days. Once we were foolishly focused on matters that seemed vastly important, but were of little true significance." He again looked reverently at Ronon. "But we were very fortunate to have a visitor who showed us how our efforts as a people were best applied. Since that time, the Ancestors have certainly smiled upon us."

John looked around at the neglected landscaping and crumbling pavement. "I don't know. Kinda let the infrastructure go, didn't you?"

"Well, yes," Juzo conceded. "Actually, that's an example of our once misguided cultural focus. Before, my people were constantly distracted by frivolous pursuits. Today, we are firmly on the path the Ancestors have laid out for us."

Teyla frowned in frustration. "But—"

Ronon interrupted. "We're here because we're lookin' for a guy. Member of our team. Someone kidnapped him."

John felt startled by this reminder of the purpose of their mission. He and Teyla exchanged a guilty look.

"That's right," John said, belatedly taking over. "We have reason to believe that someone from your planet may have kidnapped him."

Teyla brought out one of the fliers with Rodney's picture and handed it to Juzo. "I don't recognize this man," he said firmly, handing it back to her. "And frankly, I have trouble believing that anyone from here would have had anything to do with this. Our people are all quite busy with physical training."

"This paper has been posted on many different worlds," Teyla said. "On one of them, a young woman was seen showing great interest in the paper. She was described as wearing her hair in the style of your people." She glanced at Juzo's silly attempt at a Rononesque coiffure. "That is, the style your people once embraced. Shaved on the sides, long at the crown..."

A dark look arose in Juzo's eyes that he quickly submerged. "As you say, that is the _old_ hair tradition. Now, we wear it like this."

He ran a hand through his limp dreads and beamed proudly. John cleared his throat and said, "Real nice. But maybe there's somebody—"

"You said something about the board of governors," Ronon interrupted again. Juzo exploded once more in enthusiasm.

"Oh, yes! Let's hurry into the city proper. They'll want to know of your arrival right away." Juzo turned to begin walking across the clearing, turning once to make sure they were following.

John hung back to keep enough distance between them and their host to murmur, "Has there been a change to the team hierarchy I should know about? Because I could swear that I used to make the decisions on missions."

Ronon seemed untroubled by the implied accusation. "I remember this guy. We're better off talking to someone else. 'Sides, you guys really didn't seem to be gettin' anywhere."

John wanted to make a cutting remark so he could avoid admitting the truth of that, but Teyla had seen an opening and taken it.

"I assume," she said to Ronon, "that you can explain why these people seem to have changed the emphasis of their entire culture to emulate you?"

With a one-shouldered shrug, the big guy responded, "They formed a wrong impression the first time I was here. Next time I came, they'd changed everything. No one was more surprised than me."

Once they'd passed through the treeline and into the city, Juzo began the play tour guide, enthusiastically pointing out the archery range (the trunks of the trees behind the hay bale-mounted targets were absolutely riddled with gashes and puncture marks), the cross-country trail (upon which lay a woman having her ankle wrapped and her arm splinted), and the newly finished obstacle course.

"I designed it myself," Juzo stated proudly. "It is the most challenging course we've ever had. Our runners have been using it for less than a week, and already seven of them have been injured."

John reflected on the obvious pride in this announcement. "Don't get me wrong, Juzo – I'm sure you did a great job designing the course – but if seven people have gotten hurt trying to run it, maybe a little tweaking's in order. You know, for safety's sake."

Juzo waved a hand dismissively. "Their injuries will only make them stronger." He beamed at Ronon.

"Injuries do not make people stronger," Teyla said. Her voice was velvet-covered steel. "To subject your athletes to a dangerous course is not very responsible. It benefits no one to subject people to pain for no reason."

John found himself thinking of their stick-fighting sessions and wondered if he should risk calling hypocrisy.

"Injuries," Juzo intoned, "are part of being a runner. Pain is simply an incentive to keep moving."

"Well, yeah," John countered, "in a life-threatening situation. On a training course, pain's a signal that you're doing something wrong."

Juzo's facial expression was becoming less and less tolerant. "Clearly, we have very different philosophies."

Ronon pointed to one of the many once-grand structures in the city that seemed to have been left to fend for itself against time and weather. "That still the place where the governors meet?"

"Yes," Juzo said, clearly elated that Ronon would deign to remember such a detail, "but they'll all be at their respective training stations now. I'll need to sound the summoning signal inside."

"Great," Ronon said, starting toward the building. "Let's go sound it."

Teyla glanced at John before following. Juzo had already started, taking a series of quick strides to catch up and walk next to Ronon. John called, "Right. Ronon, you take point. I'll watch our six." His peripheral vision caught Teyla's turn of her head but he refused to look at her.

* * *

They'd had to take the long way around to reach the Gymnasium Formerly Known as Observatory in order to avoid running into any more Surrosan citizens. After miles' worth of walking around literally joined at the hip and shoulder with Tarru, Rodney had developed a unique understanding of what life as a conjoined twin must be like. He had a crazy urge to sit down once he got back to Atlantis and send Jeannie a heartfelt email thanking her profusely for not developing from the same fertilized egg as him.

As they stood with their backs pressed against a wall on the backside of the building, waiting for Tarru to be sure that no one would see them as they sneaked in, Rodney took stock of what he could see of the city. The buildings in the immediate area seemed well-built but poorly maintained, the paved areas in general were in need of attention, and all the vegetation showed signs of neglect. Clearly this culture's sudden rejection of a science and engineering emphasis was taking its toll on the city's infrastructure and upkeep.

The gymnasium, as one of the newest buildings, was still in pretty good shape, if a little weird-looking. That's to be expected, Rodney supposed; if you start constructing an observatory and switch to building a gym midstream, you're bound to get a result with a bit of an identity crisis.

"Come on!" hissed Tarru, pulling him toward her. They slipped through the back door, assumed conjoined-twin positions, and hobbled hurriedly down a corridor.

"Where's this lab of yours?" He thought he was whispering, but she still shushed him harshly.

"Up those stairs, two levels, to the left, all the way down the corridor."

"Well, naturally. It couldn't be one of these rooms right here on the main level, could it? That would be too easy. We can't have— Ow! That was my _foot!_"

"I know. If you don't lower your voice, I will make sure the next kick finds something more sensitive before they find us take us into custody."

"All you had to do was ask, you know. I'm not an unreas— _Ow!_ Stop that!"

Excited voices suddenly had them dragging each other into a nearby alcove. "What's happening?" Rodney demanded.

"Here," Tarru said, "let me give you a full report, since I'm obviously in a position to _know_ what's going on given that I've spent the last few hours _right beside_— Ow!"

"Quiet!"

A man and a woman, each sporting incongruous, poorly executed dreadlocks, hurried past their alcove on their way to the stairs. "You really think it's true? He's come back after all this time?"

"Narvan saw him," the woman answered. "He just walked in on the personal combat class."

"Where are they now?"

"I hear they are headed to the governors' building."

"Let's hurry, then."

The voices trailed away. "Who are they talking about?" Rodney asked.

"Who cares? Whoever it is has given us the distraction we need. Come on."

The lab was a cluttered room filled with disparate kinds of scientific instruments and supplies. It looked like technological yard sale. "You really could pick up the place when you know you're having company," Rodney said, wrinkling his nose. "Now, where are the components for this stupid machine of yours?"

"Over here." She led him to a corner, pushing objects out of her way with a casual kick and a careless shove. Rodney cringed every time something rattled or crashed.

He looked at the object on the table she pointed to, picking it up and turning it over as he examined it.

"Well done," he said. "This is wholly and completely _not_ what I asked you for. It is in fact very far removed from what I asked for."

"We'll fix ourselves in a while," Tarru said. "First, I want you to help me strike the first blow for the rebellion."

"You know, you should see a doctor about your problems with retention. I distinctly remember telling you that I would not be assisting in any coup attempts."

"You won't have to do a thing! Just show me how to work this thing. Show me what to do so _I_ can start the rebellion, and then I'll show you to the things you need to fix the brain thing."

"You'll really do that? You'll let me fix the stupid device if I show you how to work this thing?"

"Yes! Absolutely!" she said, beaming. She had quite a nice smile for a scientist with no discernible scientific knowledge or aptitude.

Rodney looked it over again, opened a compartment, looked around on the table and picked up a cylinder, and popped it into the compartment. He closed the compartment and slid a lever to make a locking sound. "That should do it."

Tarru looked eager. "Okay, what do I do now?"

"Do? Oh, nothing, really. Just..." He raised the object, which had a long projecting barrel in front, and pointed it at Tarru, who gasped and raised her hands reflexively. "... smile!"

Rodney pushed a button. Tarru gave a tiny shriek as the object clicked and whirred. Rodney turned a crank until a thick piece of paper began to emerge from the side of the device. He ripped it out and looked at it, chuckled, and handed it to Tarru. "There you go. Not very flattering, but I think it captures your utter cluelessness rather well."

"You... you..." She decided to express herself by slapping at his upper body repeatedly. "Why didn't you just _tell_ me it was an image-making device?"

"Because I wanted you to see just how... stop! Just how ridic— will you _stop?_ I wanted you to see how ridiculous it is for you to even be thinking about launching some kind of revolution when you can't even tell the lethal from the benign."

"I'm perfectly capable of learning. I just need someone to teach me!"

"I'm teaching you right now!" He held up the camera. "You can't tell a piece of photographic equipment from a... from a..." He glanced around nearby and finally selected a large bazookalike object. "...from something that looks to be a light intensifier that functions as an energy weapon. Hm. Neat."

He put it and the camera down and grabbed her by the shoulders. "I know you're unhappy with your life and believe me, I can sympathize with that. But if you try to use weaponry you don't understand and don't know how to use, you're only going to hurt people and do a lot of damage. I'm telling you this for your own good. Now: where's the stuff I need to repair this box? I want to be able to walk a straight line when I leave this building."

Shoulders slumped, Tarru looked near tears again. Rodney felt a little brutish, but hell, it was all in her best interest as well as his. She showed him to another table. "Here. This is the stuff I used to make the device. There should be enough extra parts for you to repair it. In fact, I'm sure you'll make it work a whole lot better."

She plopped onto a stool and slouched dejectedly. Yeah, he was definitely feeling like a prick now.

"You know, I wouldn't mind if you, uh, wanted to, you know... watch me work. You might learn some things. Not that I'd be narrating every move and I could only take time to answer a very few questions, but just watching someone of my caliber would undoubtedly be instructive."

Dully, she looked at him and shook her head before resuming staring at the floor.

Okay, then. He may be a prick, but he _had_ made the offer. Forcing himself to forget about her for a while, he set about figuring out how to repair the device and restore their equilibrium... and his freedom.


	5. Chapter 5

"I still don't understand," said Banar, one of the seven-member Surrosan board of governors seated at the large oval table. She had white hair that was far too thin to make respectable dreadlocks. "Why have you come back now, Ronon, if not to judge our progress?"

Teyla could see that John had had just about enough of not being acknowledged as the leader. "As I said a few minutes ago, we're only here because our investigation brought us here. We're not here to check up on anybody."

Tamma, a small, thin man whose brownish-black hair actually looked fairly good in this style, frowned. "And... who are you, again?"

Clearly controlling his temper, John repeated his rank and name. "Ronon is part of my team."

"This team... you compete athletically?"

Sensing an impending diplomatic breach, Teyla stepped in. "No. We visit different worlds to explore and to trade."

"And these... explorations and trading missions," said Banar, "they are... peaceful?"

"Of course!" John said. "Why would you think they aren't?"

"It is hard not to notice, Col. Sheppard, that you travel... heavily armed. Or am I wrong in thinking that large object you carry is a weapon?"

"You're not wrong, Banar," Teyla answered. "We have not always received friendly treatment in our travels. We arm ourselves for defense, not aggression."

Juzo impatiently entered the conversation. "I'm willing to accept Col. Sheppard's word for who they are and why they have come."

Banar smiled at him. Teyla did not think it was a friendly expression. "According to Col. Sheppard, they are not here to evaluate your achievements in transforming our society, Juzo."

Scowling, Juzo said, "I understand. But that doesn't preclude Ronon from having a look around, does it? He is responsible for all that we've accomplished; I'm sure he's anxious to see just what that is."

Teyla was filled with curiosity. How – and more importantly, _why_ – had Ronon convinced these people to alter their entire way of life?

"I'm not responsible," Ronon said.

There was a moment of rather shocked silence before Juzo laughed far too heartily. "He's joking, of course. Everyone knows that it was Ronon's influence that set our transformation in motion."

"That was your doing," Ronon stated flatly. "I never told you to change how you lived."

"You didn't?" Tamma said rather shrilly. To Juzo, he repeated, "He didn't? You always said—"

"I said that my conversations with Ronon gave me the blueprint for this new societal order. I never claimed he actually _told_ us to do anything!"

"You suggested that he was some sort of religious figure," Banar said. "You told us that he had been blessed by the Ancestors, that he had immunity from the Wraith. You said that if we followed his example, the Ancestors would bless us, too."

Ronon snorted and shook his head. "Wraith can't feed on me. It's a genetic fluke. The Wraith use people like me to practice their hunting."

Another of the governors, Brahno, spoke up. "They... hunt you?"

"They did," John said, "until our doctor removed their tracking implant. He's no longer being hunted."

"That is wonderful," Juzo said briskly. "But it only further proves Ronon's blessing by the Ancestors. It is my job as chief cleric to interpret matters of spiritual import. That is exactly what I did when Ronon first happened upon our world."

Brahno, a hefty but quiet man, turned to Juzo. "I'm curious to learn more about your process of spiritual interpretation, Juzo. Specifically how you translated Ronon's tragic enslavement by the Wraith into a call to abandon our highly productive lifestyle for one that has plunged this city into emotional depression and financial hardship, and wrought epidemic levels of physical injury."

A weight lifted from Teyla's heart as it became clear that Ronon had not, in fact, deliberately triggered the changes that had derailed a society she had always admired. But her anger hadn't dissipated; it had merely found a different target.

"Am I to understand," she asked Juzo rather severely, "that you initiated a complete restructuring of your society simply because you met a man who could not be fed upon by the Wraith?"

Juzo bristled, understandably; as an outsider, Teyla really had no right to accuse or censure him. She realized, however, the she didn't really care.

"That's an oversimplification!" Juzo growled. "Meeting Ronon gave me a new perspective. We've always lived in the shadow of the Wraith. He had actually fought them and won."

Tamma snorted. "He didn't _win._ He was just genetically incapable of being fed upon."

"I've killed Wraith," Ronon said. "Lots of 'em."

A little thrill of admiration ran through the board of governors. Teyla saw John shifting his weight and looking vaguely unsatisfied and realized he was fighting the urge to announce that he, too, had killed many Wraith. She rolled her eyes. She would ensure he received extra correction for this ridiculous vanity the next time they sparred.

"It wasn't his killing of Wraith that interested me," Juzo insisted. "It was the circumstances of his life. He spent his life on the run, eluding capture even as he hunted his pursuers. He had to be ready, at a moment's notice, to fight, to defend himself, to flee. There was a kind of... purity... to his existence."

Teyla looked at Ronon to see how he was reacting to this unconventional assessment of his prior life. His face was a gathering of storm clouds.

"Just look at him!" Juzo commanded. "He is lean and hard and strong. He can run like a cat and fight like a demon. A finer specimen you'll never see in your life."

Ronon gazed darkly at Juzo. John cleared his throat softly, looking a little upset, as though the implication of his inferiority as a "specimen" was gravely insulting. Yes, he would definitely be getting a few lessons in their next session.

Banar shook her head. "But clearly Ronon was already predisposed to a physical life. He was a warrior."

"You're missing the point," Juzo told her. He turned to Ronon. "You told me a little about your home world, remember? He comes from a world that was much like ours – highly developed technologically, although they were far more inclined toward weapons development. And they fell to the Wraith in spite of all their hardware."

"I still seem to be missing your point," Banar said dryly.

With a noise of frustration, Juzo said, "I thought long and hard about the implications of the fate of Ronon's world, about what it implied about the Ancestors and their preferences. Clearly, a life focused on science and technology had not been rewarded with safety.

"But," and here Juzo's eyes began to gleam with enthusiasm, "look what happened when all that technology had been taken away. Stripped of all but his absolute necessities, Ronon began to train his body ever harder to meet the challenges of his hard life. He was forced to live simply, often primitively. And he often had to swallow pain and keep moving to avoid capture. He had to run while injured – sometimes severely injured – or face death at the hands of the Wraith.

"Ronon made these sacrifices, and the Ancestors smiled upon him! They rewarded him by keeping him alive, and now we learn that he finally found a measure of safety and comfort with a new people on a new world."

"A new people," said Brahno, eyeing John's P-90, "who seem to have embraced technology with some enthusiasm. Your logic is flawed, Juzo. I knew you were bad with the sciences, but I had always thought you'd found your calling in the realm of the spiritual. Now I see that you're just as incompetent in _that_ field, and as a result, our culture has paid a terrible price!"

"What do you know of the spiritual? You build knee-braces!"

"And _your_ designs create the _demand_ for knee-braces!"

As the meeting devolved into a shouting match, Teyla found herself reminded of Rodney, belatedly once more.

"All riiiight!" John shouted, managing to gain everyone's attention. "Now, I appreciate that you've got some internal stuff to work out here, but we're here to find our friend, and that's gotta take precedence. So, can anyone tell us where to find a young woman who _doesn't_ wear her hair like Ronon's?"

Absolute silence greeted the question. Finally, Banar spoke. "Why do you ask that?"

"Our investigation indicates that our friend may have been taken by a woman who wears her hair in your traditional style," Teyla answered.

She watched, puzzled, as every governor turned an accusatory gaze on Juzo.

"Is there no end to the havoc you can wreak on our people?" Brahno demanded quietly.

Teyla glanced confusedly at John. He seemed to share her lack of comprehension and sought to make sense of what was happening. "Unless you guys have a brilliant make-up department, or some kick-ass sex-change technology," John said, "I'm afraid I don't see how Juzo can be blamed for our friend's kidnapping."

"I think I do," Ronon said unexpectedly. He looked at Juzo. "How's your daughter?"

* * *

"All my life," Tarru said morosely, "I watched my fellow citizens study and experiment and think and plan and build."

"Uh huh," Rodney answered automatically, not really listening. Okay, yeah, this was definitely the component that controlled selection of the area of the brain to be affected.

"They were always so productive, so filled with purpose," she continued.

"Mm hm." So this part went here, and that one must... oh, _cool._

"I wanted that for myself. I wanted a life of purpose and concrete accomplishment. I think that sort of upset my father."

"Ah." Father, right, whatever. He needed the part that controlled range – wonder what it looked like? The old one had been crushed to powder.

"You see, he had tried many different fields earlier in his life – architecture, construction, design, even triage medicine – but he wasn't successful in any of them. He was bitterly disappointed."

"Huh? Who was?"

"My father! Aren't you listening?"

"Oh. Him. Sure. Go on." Ah! There was the component he was looking for. It had to be.

"Eventually he gave up and entered into a religious life. That he seemed to be good at; after a while, he became chief cleric."

"Huh." Yes! It _was_ the range controller. Now to adjust it...

"Something happened when I was younger," Tarru continued. "Some guy came through the ring who really impressed my father. I was absorbed in the stars; I didn't pay much attention. But I should have, you see, because after that, everyone started talking about how technology wasn't the answer, and that the Ancestors rewarded physical stamina. Stuff like that."

"Yeah." It wasn't fitting, it wasn't fitting... There! Perfect.

"That shift changed my life. Took my life away, really."

"Mm."

"But today... Today, I'm taking it all back. I'm taking everyone's lives back for them. I'm going to put things back the way they were."

"Yeah, okay." Now to secure it all. Where'd that screwdriver get to? There it was. Turning, turning, turning...

"Got it!" shouted Rodney. The repair had been astonishingly quick; he'd really outdone himself this time. Twisting the dial carefully, he took a hesitant step, then another and another and another. "Yes! I could pass a field sobriety test with no trouble at all now." He looked around. "Tarru? Where are you? Try to walk. How do you feel now?"

"Wonderful," she said, her voice coming from behind him. He turned to see her leaning slightly out a window. "Watch this – let's see if all those archery sessions have paid off."

He shouldn't feel _too_ badly about what happened next. Even if he'd immediately noticed that she was wielding that energy weapon, he was too far away to have stopped her from firing. Still, he would always be disturbed by the memory of the little war whoop she gave as she pulled the trigger.

_Star Trek_ always made it look like firing an energy weapon had no more impact on the user than turning on a laser pointer. Of course, Ronon's weapon seemed to lack a kick as well. This particular weapon, however? Yeah, not so much. The gun dispensed a massive sphere of fire, kind of like a giant flaming musket ball, and sounded like a small cannon. The fireball tore across the city, connected with something that looked like a playground, and boom! No more playground, but lots and lots of smoke and small fires.

The recoil from the shot sent Tarru flying backward, slamming her against a work table. Rodney ran to her side where she lay, stunned and blinking.

"Are you okay?"

"I... I think so."

"Good! Because I am totally gonna kick your ass for that later! What the hell were you _thinking?_" He stood and looked out the window at the devastation. "You torched a playground! You might have... oh, _god!_ Were there any kids out there?"

"No."

"What do you mean, no? Are you sure? How can you be sure?"

"Because! That wasn't a playground."

He started to turn away from the window to argue that he certainly knew a playground when he saw one when his attention was caught by a stream of people running out of various buildings and toward the site of the destruction. "Good god, _everyone_ here wears dreadlocks? Oh wait, not everyone; there's a guy with spiky... Hey! Hey, that's... that's my team! They found me! I can't believe... John! JOHN! TEYLA! Up here! RONON! Hey! Oh, screw this. I'm going down there."

"Wait!" Tarru wailed, getting to her feet. "You can't just leave me! What about the revolution?"

"Start it without me," he said, snickering at the stupid joke she had no way of understanding, and ran out of the lab.

"I already did!" he heard her yelling.

Getting out of the building was a lot faster than coming in, now that he didn't give a shit who saw him. Once outside, he just followed the crowd as they all headed toward the playground. Pushing past people, usually without excusing himself because, hey – he was a _victim_ here – he kept moving until he spotted Ronon towering over everyone. The Satedan saw Rodney before he got there and nudged Sheppard.

The whole team met somewhere in the middle of the distance between them. Teyla flashed a brilliant smile. "I am so glad we have found you," she said, pulling him close to press her forehead to his. Ronon slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to bruise the bone. Sheppard looked him up and down and said, "You okay? Ya look like shit."

"You have no idea what I've been through! When we get back, Keller will need to do a complete set of scans on my brain just in case there's permanent damage. Although I feel okay now, but I couldn't necessarily tell if there was anything... See, there's this girl, and she's crazy, and kinda cute but seriously lacking in common sense and well, just about _any_ kind of sense, really, and I totally, totally _hate_ you because it's all your fault this happened, because remember that personal ad you wrote? It—"

Sheppard held up a hand. "Skip the stream-of-consciousness, McKay. We already know what happened."

Rodney gaped. "You do? How?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Ronon. "And why the hell does everyone here look like they're staging a you lookalike contest? Everyone except the crazy chick, of course. You wouldn't believe _her_ hair."

"Ponytail at the crown, shaved on the sides, silvery spikes on top?" Sheppard asked. "Heard all about it."

Rodney fumed. This was so unfair. He should at least have the satisfaction of surprising them with his epic tale of pain and weirdness.

Further annoying him was some gray-haired woman addressing the crowd. She seemed to be getting them all pissed off at some short, round older guy. Totally bald on top with reddish-gray dreads hanging from the sides like a ratty shower curtain, he looked like Friar Tuck by way of Jamaica. He also looked very put-out.

"What's going on?" Rodney demanded irritably. If they had to stay on this crazy planet, he at least deserved a little peace and quiet.

"Social revolution," Teyla said serenely.

"Oh, don't even."

"To add to our troubles," the gray-haired old lady was saying, "it appears that his daughter, Tarru, has kidnapped someone from another world, potentially exposing us to conflict with his people. Obviously, this is not—"

"There she is!" cried a voice, and the crowd began to grumble ominously and murmur things like "What is she doing?" Rodney and the others turned to see what everyone was looking at.

Tarru had climbed atop of a large piece of smoking wreckage.

"That's the crazy kidnapper chick," he said to Sheppard. "She blew up the playground."

"'S not a playground," Ronon corrected him. "It's an obstacle course."

"It is not."

"My fellow Surrosans," Tarru bellowed. "I claim responsibility for the destruction of this obstacle course."

Ronon nudged Rodney, who rolled his eyes. This day so sucked. He probably _did_ have residual brain damage.

"I destroyed it, even though my own father designed it, because I consider it to be a symbol of the decline of our society."

"You did us a favor!" cried a man in the crowd. He was wearing a hip-to-toe cast on his right leg. "It would have killed somebody eventually."

A wave of murmured agreement passed though the assembly. Tarru seemed nonplussed, but gamely continued.

"My friends, ever since we abandoned our old ways, we have steadily slid into decline."

"That's right!" yelled a woman.

"Our lives have been uprooted," Tarru said. "Our focus was forcibly turned toward activities that have not allowed us to thrive."

"We know that!" Rodney couldn't see who yelled this remark.

"We can't survive if things continue on this path," Tarru said. "I knew that someone had to take action, and so today, I committed a criminal act."

"Kidnapping," shouted a young man impatiently. "We know. We heard."

Tarru looked thrown. Rodney thought she'd probably been memorizing this speech for hours, and now her concentration was blown.

Plunging ahead, Tarru cried, "It's time for us to stand up to this oppressive system! We have to stand together as one unit and say, 'No more!' We will fight if necessary, for as long as necessary, and we will not stop until—"

"Oh, Tarru," Friar Tuck-mon shouted, "shut up. Please, just shut up."

"Yes, Tarru," said the gray-haired woman. "You can stop calling for war. We've sorted it all out. The governors have decided to go back to the old ways."

"What?" Tarru said, eyes bulging in shock and confusion. "What did you say, Banar?"

"It's over," Tamma yelled up to her. "We're abandoning the new way of life and going back to following the path of science and learning. You can come down. You're not a revolutionary anymore."

"We... you... but _why?_"

"Oh for god's sake," Rodney yelled. "Does it really _matter_ why? You've won, okay? Congratulations on a concise and efficient rebellion. Now get down off the wreckage like a good little nutcase before it collapses underneath you, all right?"

"Nice to see you've managed to steer clear of Stockholm syndrome," Sheppard muttered.

Looking deflated and more than a little disappointed, Tarru grudgingly began to climb down – rather skillfully, Rodney noticed.


	6. Chapter 6

Tarru had chosen to accompany the team back to the stargate, which made Rodney a little uncomfortable. For one thing, she was walking beside him, and hadn't they really had more than enough of that for one day? Or for that matter, forever? For another thing, halfway along the path, she'd actually _taken his hand._ Thinking uneasily of Katie, he considered pulling away, but feared – oddly enough – that this would hurt her feelings. He told himself he simply wanted to avoid one of her extreme emotional outbursts, but when he honestly examined his own feelings toward Tarru, Rodney was shocked and rather horrified to discover they were dominated by – of all things! – affection.

He needed to get off this planet before his brain stopped working entirely.

She chattered excitedly about the Surrosans' plans to restore life to normal. A massive clean-up effort was already underway to give their buildings and environment some much-needed maintenance, and Tarru had been assigned a team of her own for this purpose.

"We'll be identifying all the damages and prioritizing them," she said proudly.

"How's your dad feel about all this?"

"Oh, livid," she said casually. "He's been removed as chief cleric. I'm not sure what he'll do next. But I'm all set to start studying astronomy again."

"Well, that's.. something." Rodney couldn't quite bring himself to say it was good.

Once they'd reached the clearing where the stargate sat, she tugged his arm to get him to hang back. He told Sheppard, "I'll be right there," and turned back to Tarru.

"I'd like to thank you for your help," she said, "but you didn't really do anything."

Blinking, he replied, "I'd like to tell you you'll make a fine scientist with a little training, but it will actually take many years of hard work, a team of instructors dedicated solely to teaching you, and your body possessed by an alien entity with scientific aptitude."

She raised her chin. "No matter what you think, I'll be a good astronomer."

"No matter what I think, you'll think you're good."

Smiling wryly, she said, "I turned out to be a pretty good kidnapper."

"You were a very _lucky_ kidnapper."

Her face went serious. "I should apologize for what I did," she said, looking at the ground. Rodney folded his arms, waiting. Finally, a sign that she understood the import of her actions.

But then she looked up, wearing a sly grin. "But I'm not sorry, and I'm not a hypocrite, so I won't."

He opened his mouth to extemporize a scorching rant on her colossal gall, her utter lack of basic consideration, and whatever other failings of hers that floated to the top of his mind while he talked. Perhaps sensing what was coming, she managed to render him speechless by grabbing him by the arms, pulling him toward her, and kissing him on the mouth.

She was... pretty good at it, actually. Good energy but plenty of control, imaginative use of tongue, excellent overall technique...

"Holy crap," he muttered into her mouth once he'd resumed breathing.

Tarru pulled her head back just enough to say, "You don't have to go just yet if you don't want to. My family has a little cabin in the woods. We could—"

"I've already experienced the family cabin, thanks. It's a bit drafty for me."

"That? Oh, that's just a shack my father and I built together a few years ago."

"I see. So the engineering incompetence is actually genetic."

Tarru pouted. "So... you don't want to stay?"

Extricating himself from her embrace, Rodney cleared his throat. "Tarru, I have to get back. The people back home won't last a week without my genius, working the many miracles that keep them all alive. And besides, there's... well, I've got a... well, see, there's this girl, um, woman, and we—"

"Oh." She blushed (rather prettily, he shouldn't be noticing) and laced her hands behind her back, looking embarrassed. "I... I'm sorry. I mean, I..."

"Hey, McKay," Sheppard drawled. "Is this Casablanca scene gonna go on much longer? The wormhole can only stay open for thirty-eight minutes, you know."

And right then, looking into the smirking face of Col. John "The choice of hot alien kidnappers everywhere" Sheppard, Rodney was overcome with a sudden need to wipe that smirk away. And through some strange, kiss-borne epiphany, he knew exactly how to do it.

In a rare moment of social self-consciousness that was not dominated by overwhelming self-doubt, Rodney reached for Tarru and swept her toward him. His right hand at the small of her back and his left cupping the back of her head, he proceeded to kiss her with the thoroughness, inspiration, and determination that had made him a five-time regional science fair champion. He kissed her until he felt her knees begin to buckle, until she was soft and pliant in his arms and making cute yet erotic little whimpering noises. He kissed her until an image of Katie appeared in his mind, cleared its throat, and stage-whispered, "That's enough."

He pulled away from her lips and released her; smiling into her wide eyes as she struggled to catch her breath, he said, casually, "Take care of yourself."

Turning away, he glanced triumphantly at Sheppard, just to confirm that he'd watched, and sauntered toward the gate, totally floating along on utter exhilaration. That was absolutely, flat-out the coolest moment of his entire life. Well, that is to say, it was the moment of his life in which _he_ was at his coolest; the coolest moment of his life was probably the first time he went through the stargate, or...

_You know what? Shut up and enjoy the moment._

"Good advice," he murmured with a smile, and walked through the gate.

* * *

John had to admit, that kiss had been pretty damn good. Maybe not as good as Rodney thought it was, but it certainly had done a number on Tarru, who was staring at the wormhole breathlessly even though Rodney had already disappeared through it.

_McKay, I didn't know you had it in you._

John sidled up to Tarru while she was still distracted. "I'll take that back, if you don't mind."

"Huh?" Her eyes turned toward him, but took a moment to focus on him. "What? Take what back?"

"What you took from Rodney the first time you kissed him," John said. He held out his hand expectantly. He was smiling, but he knew she could tell he meant business.

Scowling, she shoved a hand into a pocket and slapped the life signs detector into his palm. "How did you know?"

He smirked. "Let's just say I've played this scene myself recently."

She was looking at the stargate again, wistfully. "Do you think he'll ever come back?"

"I don't know." He started up the ramp. "Maybe he and his girlfriend will come here for a vacation."

"_You_ are quite welcome to stay away."

"That's my motto: Always leave them wanting no more. Just be careful with future kidnappings, okay? Some people won't be as understanding as we are."

She sneered at him, and John went through the gate chuckling.

* * *

Stepping into Atlantis, Rodney felt as though he'd been gone for weeks. He was briefly tempted to kiss the ground, but it wasn't ground but a floor, and who knew how recently it had been mopped? People walked on this floor after visiting _alien planets,_ after all. Not to mention restrooms.

"Welcome back, Dr. McKay."

"Oh. Yeah, thank you... thank you, uh..."

"Chuck, sir."

"Oh. Right." Rodney forgot the name and the man instantly upon spotting Sam hurrying toward him.

"Rodney! Thank God! Are you all right? Where are the others?"

Okay, really, couldn't she have waited until he'd answered the question about his well-being before asking about the others? "Um... I'm not sure, really. Thought they were coming through at the same time as me."

Teyla exited the wormhole at that moment and headed toward them. At the gate technician's greeting, she responded with "Thank you, Chuck." She was such a show-off. Most people didn't notice it because she was subtle about it, but Rodney saw.

"Welcome back," Sam said. "I see the search-and-rescue was a success."

"Actually," Teyla said, glancing at Rodney, "the search was successful, but Rodney effected his own escape."

"Really." Sam turned to him expectantly.

Mentally apologizing to Teyla for the show-off accusation, Rodney said, "Yes. Well, you know how it is; after you've been out in the field for a while, you develop a sort of instinct about this kind of thing."

Sam was nodding, just waiting for him to continue. Clearly, she didn't know a thing about the instincts, which, given her years of experience, was a little disappointing.

"Yeah, so you know, you get a feel for how to deal with dangerous people, how to exploit their weaknesses, how to—"

He heard the wormhole closing and turned around. "It's a about time," he said to Sheppard and Ronon. "What'd you guys do, take the scenic route back?"

"Sorry," Sheppard said. "Tried to get away sooner, but you know how Ronon tends to go on and on."

"So," Sam said, "glad to see you're all back in one piece."

Sheppard nodded. "Nobody had to die. It was a good mission."

She frowned slightly, perhaps wondering if he was joking. "So, it's all okay? No political fallout to deal with?"

"Nah, don't think so."

"No," Rodney confirmed. "I mean, we did sort of trigger a complete overturning of the operations of an entire society, but they were headed that way anyway."

"Oh, yeah. They were on the brink of a revolution."

"What?" Sam demanded anxiously.

"'S okay," Ronon assured her. "It was a real stupid system."

"What Col. Sheppard means," Teyla said pointedly, "is that there was already great unrest. The revolution was going to happen; we just happened to be there when it occurred.."

"Good." Sam's tone suggested she feared there was a huge "but" coming up.

"The gir... the person who kidnapped me? Wanted me to help with the rebellion. Identify weapons, tell how to use them, that sort of thing."

"But he successfully resisted," Teyla added.

"Right," Rodney said, "of course. But as it turns out, the whole revolution took place in a conference room."

"Yep," Sheppard agreed. "We were there. It was very peaceful."

Sam looked faintly horrified. "You brokered a revolution?"

"Aren't you listening?" Rodney demanded. "They were _already_ about to rebel."

"You just triggered it."

"No!"

"Well," Teyla conceded, "I suppose Ronon's presence could be considered to have triggered the event."

"Ronon? Why? What did Ronon do?" Apparently realizing that she could ask the man directly, Sam turned to the Satedan. "What did you do?"

"Just told 'em the truth."

"Truth?"

"Yep," said Sheppard. "And it set them free."

"You just couldn't resist, could you?" Rodney demanded.

"No. Sorry."

Sam's voice was harder, which he'd noticed she did whenever she felt things had gotten out of control. "What truth did you tell them, Ronon? And what people are we talking about?"

"Actually, this is gonna be kind of a long story," Sheppard said.

Rodney nodded. "He's right. We probably oughta save it for the briefing."

"I agree, Col. Carter," Teyla weighed in. "There is much background to tell you about."

"It'll explain everything," Ronon added.

They were like a well-oiled machine, Rodney reflected. It was like they didn't even _need_ Sam. Well, until they did, of course.

For her part, Sam seemed to willing to defer the explanations until the formal briefing. "All right. Conference room in one hour. Or as soon as you're all released from the infirmary." She put a hand on Rodney's elbow. "McKay, I'm really glad you're all right." She turned to leave.

"Right, thanks, but well, I didn't actually say that I was," he said, raising his voice to cross the growing distance as she continued to move away. "There's still a distinct possibility of permanent brain damage; only Keller will be able to tell for sure, and in fact, I don't know if all the scans can be done in an hour, so maybe we—"

"Can you not see she's already back in her office?" Sheppard asked. "C'mon, guys. Let's get the post-mission checkup out of the way." He grabbed Rodney's arm to slow him and stuffed the life signs detector in his hand. "Tarru said to give this back to you."

"I... she... when did..." Realization sank into the pit of his stomach and took his high spirits along with it. "Oh, the kiss, right? _That's_ why she kissed me. I should have realized, I should have—"

"Yeah, guess she fooled you the first time. But you gotta wonder why she decided to give it back, huh? It's not like you knew it was gone."

Rodney frowned uncertainly. "_My_ kiss? You think it... I mean, you think maybe she...?"

"I think you knocked her socks off, McKay. Now let's go get your head examined."

"You know, maybe I should try that on Katie."

"You've never kissed your girlfriend?"

"Well, obviously, I've _kissed_ her. I mean, maybe I should try it like _that._"

"You've never kissed your girlfriend like _that?_"

"Yes, yes, but you're... you know what? I'm not having this conversation."

Rodney fell silent the rest of the way to the infirmary, concentrating on recalling every detail of the way he had kissed Tarru. A kiss was, after all, governed by physics. And any valid result had to be repeatable.

The last thing he thought before entering the infirmary was that the shaved hair on the back of Tarru's head had, indeed, felt like velvet.


End file.
